Tailoring a Vorta
by Yel Ashaya
Summary: Weyoun thought his eyesight was deceiving him, but, no, it was not. She came over to him and guided him somewhere. That was when he saw Garak. This is probably a load of shite, but I'd appreciate reviews. And, yes, it's supposed to be a crackfic. Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. Nor do I own Garak or Weyoun. I'd surely love my own Vorta, though.


A/N: set between DS9 episodes 'Ties of Blood and Water' and 'Call to Arms'.

Something caught my eye. Well, at least I think it did. You see, we Vorta don't have spectacular eyesight. Sat on my stool in the busy Promenade, a vast array of colours and movements were set before me. My overly sensitive ears easily picked out the victorious cries of "Dabo!" and each slurp of a drink. Somewhere, I was sure I could make out the sound of the glorious Founder, Odo, growling at Quark. On the other side, I could hear that loathsome, close-minded, petty Damar complaining about the apparently watered down Kanar.

As I got to my feet, leaving my barstool be, I noticed the disapprovingly look on her face. She was staring at me as if I was some sort of Klingon. Awkwardly, I let out a little laugh. "Excuse me," I said, in as genuinely polite a voice that I could manage.

Still, in spite of my kind words, she ignored me. She held her ground and studied me, her eyes flickering from the tips of my ears and down to me feet.

"Can I help you?" I asked, starting to become annoyed at this moment.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry." It was the first time I had heard her speak. Her voice was measured, high-pitched, smooth.

I let my gaze wonder around the Promenade, wondering when exactlyI would be able to escape from this uncomfortable situation.

She continued her explanation, "I just couldn't help but notice your clothes."

I frowned, my brow creasing. What in the name of the Founders was she talking about? "My clothes?" I repeated, perplexed.

Slowly, she nodded.

I wondered why she didn't just elaborate on her nonverbal answer there and then. "What about them?"

She smiled. Broadly. Then, her expression changed just a little bit. "You can't honestly think they look nice," she muttered, giving me the once over with her eyes.

I swallowed and frowned again. Across the bar, I noticed Damar watching me with eager eyes. He looked... jealous. Jealous of what exactly? I had never felt quite so uncomfortable as I was right then. Luckily - luckily? She spoke again.

"Come," she said, her voice as soft and smooth as silk. "I've heard there is a tailor's here." She paused, as if she were considering something. "At least, that's what the doctor told me."

Oh, the insufferable Doctor Bashir. I swear to the Founders, he smiled more than me! And, I do smile a lot. Not that there's anything wrong with it when I do it.

I cleared my throat, though what for, I did not know. She smiled at me and guided me away from Quark's busy bar. We walked through the Promenade and ended up in Garak's tailor shop. I did not particularly want to be there. Garak was certainly not one of my favourite people. He was Cardassian, and I did not like those people. Sure, Gul Dukat was obviously trying to win some sort of small favour with the almighty founders. But, he was not fooling me. He was dimwitted, rude, and what's even worse: stupid and egomaniacal. No one could love the sound of their own voice more than he.

We reached Garak's and were greeted by the tailor's broad smile. With a small welcoming gesture, he ushered me forward. He did so, but clearly frowned and raised an eyre ridge. I knew of his time on the Obsidian Order; they must've trained him moderately well. He cleared had a critical eye, even if he was using that intelligence now to hem dresses and let out trousers.

She stepped aside and Garak was holding an electronic device - a PADD - in one hand. He bent down and took my measurements, before measuring my waist and neck.

"What brings you here, Weyoun?" Garak asked me.

Of course I did not need to reply to him. Pfft, a lowly Spoonhead tailor asking the second in command of the Dominion! I ignored that little fact and smiled at the Cardassian. "I was informed-" I looked over at the woman, stood in the corner "-that my clothing was substandard."

"I didn't think something as trivial as that would bother an official such as yourself," Garak mocked me, still smiling and typing things on his PADD.

"I am the face of the Vorta complement of the Dominion, and chief adjutant to the Founder herself. I must look my best." Lets see him come up with an answer for that, I thought.

And, to my sickened surprise, he had. "Ah. I see," he replied, refraining from looking at his PADD. "I shall see what I have in my catalogue." He turned away, before facing me again. "Unless, l course, you wish for bespoke tailoring."

I nodded. That would be the only thing that would be acceptable for me. "Yes. Of course," I chided.

Garak, too, nodded, though much less severely. It was more of a slight incline. He waltzed over into the background and gathered some materials. He laid them out before me.

"You expect me to choose?" I asked, actually confused.

Garak snickered under his breath. "Yes, glorious ruller of the Dominion," he said, and I detected the mockery in his annunciated voice.

I frowned at him, and then at the materials. "Do not mock me," I warned. I had to look up the be face to face with him, not to mention standing on the tips of my toes. "My people do not possess the ability of assessing aesthetics."

Once again, he laughed. I felt someone walk up behind me and I didn't even need to look around to see who it was.

"I'll help, if you want," she chimed in.

And, before I could even object, she had picked up a few pieces of what I assumed had been random bits of cloth - and pressed them to my chest. She looked thoughtful and musing as she adjusted the fabric ever so slightly.

That was the closest a female of any species had ever come to me - willing, of course. Her oak hair fell past her shoulders and I could smell it; almost like ripple berries. What a strange, interesting feeling, I mused.

Her bright blue eyes pierced into mine as she watched closely, changing the position of the cloth. Every now and then, she would fetch a new piece of cloth, barely leaving time enough for me to leave. Not that I wanted to... I think.

I noticed Garak had left.


End file.
